


Aftercare

by blarghe



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Fluff, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, Modern Thedas, Tattoos, Threesome - M/M/M, like very light, tiny bit of hurt comfort for good measure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28715415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarghe/pseuds/blarghe
Summary: Zevran and Garrett Hawke have been together for years, running a tattoo shop (established, healthy, open relationship). Enter Laris Surana, the hot client whose history and tattoo design spark a connection with Zev. Soon, Zevran can’t stop thinking about this attractive client and the possibilities of something more…Set in some kind of urban fantasy AU where elves, dwarves, magic, grey wardens and circles are all still a thing. Or maybe it’s cyberpunk fantasy Tevinter. I don’t know, it’s porn, it’s not that deep.
Relationships: Male Hawke/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Male Hawke, Zevran Arainai/Male Surana, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Aftercare

**Author's Note:**

> Fun tattoo shop au about sexual tension, BDSM, and proper aftercare. Explicit. M!Hawke x Zevran x Laris Surana. Light BDSM, blood mention (just because tattoos).
> 
> Written for @Dankia over at the BTV discord for the Satinalia exchange (:

Zevran loves his job. 

The buzz of the tattoo gun in the other room hums under the loud heavy riffs of whatever Garrett’s got on over the studio’s speakers, and the waifish blond before him gives him a pinched and sour look as he points at the sign over the front desk:  
  


WE DON’T DO: 

  * Shitty tribal
  * Racist bullshit
  * Other artists’ work 
  * Your partner’s name 



IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM, KINDLY FUCK OFF

“ _Kindly_ ”. He accentuates, giving the sign a little tap. The annoyed young woman turns and leaves with a huff, and the little bell over the shop’s door tinkles lightly as it slaps shut with a slam that makes the neon sign on the window rattle against the glass. 

The buzzing in the other room pauses. “Stop scaring away customers, Zev!” 

“She wanted tribal.” Zevran calls back. 

“A hundred bucks is a hundred bucks.” Returns the complaining voice of Garrett Hawke, though Zevran can tell he’s smirking through it. 

“You do it then!” He shouts back as the buzzing starts up again. 

“Fuck no!” 

The bell over the door tinkles again, and Zev looks up, then immediately does a double take. The elf has short, strawberry blond hair, a lean frame, and the brightest blue eyes he has ever seen. His eyes scan the walls of the small waiting room, lingering on the artwork and unsold designs posted over the walls, eventually making their way over to the desk; to Zevran. He smiles slightly, and Zevran feels a quick breath leave his lungs as those bright blue eyes glint in the reflected neon light. The elf approaches the desk, reads the sign, and smirks. 

“I’m interested in getting some work done,” the elf says, his voice startlingly soft in contrast with his sharp eyes. He runs a hand through his delicately wavy hair. “I’m just not entirely sure how to start.” He continues, while Zev nods in reassurance.

“First time?” He asks in his smoothest customer service voice; the one Garett complains makes him all the tips. The other elf nods, and Zev flashes him an easy smile. “No problemo, I’ll walk you through it.” 

He leads the potential client over to the plush red couch behind the desk. It sits in all its fashionable, expensive glory before a cheap coffee table that’s been collaged over with comic book pages. Behind it, more daring tattoo designs that no one has had the nerve to buy yet decorate the wall. The entire shop is like that; a mismatched collection of vintage couture that Hawke dragged in from the inheritance he didn’t ask for, punked-up DIY stylings, and _weird_ art. Zevran sinks comfortably into the couch, grabs the portfolios off the table, and passes them over to the client as he sits on the very edge of the velvet cushion. 

“If you want something small, we may be able to fit you in today.” He says, beginning his usual spiel. “We both have some bigger pieces available, flat prices. For those we would book you an appointment. It depends on the size, but you’d likely be looking at a two to three week wait.” He passes the elf two folders filled with artwork, one shiny and black with HAWKE scrawled over the cover in a stylized graffiti-esque font between two red wings, and the other labelled Zevran Arainai in elegantly looping calligraphy. “I’m Zevran,” he says warmly, placing his own portfolio on top, “this is me.” 

“Laris,” replies the client, and he nods politely as he flips through the folder. “I was thinking of something...custom?” He says, and Zevran watches him with a satisfied smirk on his lips as he stops over a page spread with an intricately lined greyscale piece; a dragon and roses spiraling over a very attractive male bicep. He then takes a few turns through the pages of Hawke’s portfolio, which is filled with many colourful pieces of pop culture references, funny characters, and new twists on old-school sailor designs. Zevran smirks again when the elf closes Hawke’s book and places it back on the table, keeping Zevran’s on his lap.

“Then if you like either of our styles, we can set up a consultation,” he explains. “What sort of piece did you have in mind?” 

“This is really good.” Laris comments as he stops again on a large back piece, this one a complicated mix of arcane symbolism and two beautifully shaded encircling snakes, accentuated with just a couple artful pops of colour along the edges of their scales. Zevran knows it is, he wouldn’t have put it in the portfolio otherwise, but Laris’ appreciation startles his breath again. His smile is genuine when he thanks him for the compliment. 

Laris pulls a few folded papers out of his pocket; pictures of other tattoos and griffons and wings and some messy sketches of runes. “I want something that kind of...combines this imagery? Magic and the Warden crest. Mostly black and white, maybe some colour. I was thinking big, a back piece, sort of like this one.” He taps the image in Zev’s portfolio, and Zevran nods. 

“We can do something like that. May I ask you a bit about why you want this? The meaning behind your design?” He says slowly, taking some of the sketches up to his face to examine them more closely. 

Laris shifts on the couch. “What do you want to know?” 

“Normally I would not recommend something so big for a first time piece, but if you have a good reason...” Zevran replies carefully. “Griffons and runes are quite symbolic, and I like to know the meaning I will be working into a design. I like to work _with_ my clients.” He dips a little lower into that smooth tone he does so well as he speaks, and watches as Laris shifts again, sitting a little further back and sinking deeper into the couch cushions, getting more comfortable. 

“It would reflect some of the most important things in my life,” Laris says seriously. “Joining the Wardens, escaping some… very hard situations.” 

Zevran nods, still examining the hand-drawn runes. “Are you a mage?” He asks as he hands the papers back. 

Laris nods. “Circle mage, born and raised,” He grimaces. “Part of it is that too. Rebellion.” He smiles a sly little smile that does something entirely _unfair_ to Zevran’s composure. “The Circle would never allow a mage to get a tattoo. So I figure, you know, go big or go home.” 

Zevran returns his sly smile with one of his own. “No intentions of going home, I take it?” 

“That a problem?” Laris’ eyes spark up with a challenging light, and at that moment Garrett Hawke butts into the conversation. 

“Fuck no!” Garrett interrupts as he makes his way to the front desk, the client he’s just finished working on in tow.

“Laris, Garrett.” Zevran chuckles at the startled expression on the elf’s face. “Filthy apostate." 

"And your boss." Hawke quips back. 

Garrett's moved to the register, and his client is digging through her bag to hand him a wad of cash and a gift bag of home-baked cookies. One of his regulars; she's covered in his fun colourful designs, with a new one looking shiny and bright under the clear bandage on her right forearm. 

"My partner," Zevran corrects with a smirk and pointed glance back at him, "who takes a cut of all my earnings." 

"To pay the rent on the shop that's in _my_ name, because _one of us_ has faked his own death so many times that he can't legally hold property," Hawke banters back. Zevran winks at Laris. 

"Boys, play nice." Says the dwarf with the tattoos, giggling. "Make sure he shares." She adds, looking to Zevran and pointing at the cookies she's left on the counter. 

"Of course, amor." 

"Hey now, I _always_ share." Hawke protests, to more giggles. 

Beside him on the couch, Laris is also stifling a chuckle, and Hawke's happy customer turns her attention to him. 

"You picked a great shop, can't get better work done anywhere in the city. They act tough, but these two old softies'll treat you right." She calls over jovially before she leaves. 

Hawke’s stuffed a cookie in his mouth, but he crosses his big, tattooed arms in protest as she saunters away. “Who you callin’ old?” He calls out after her, the sound muffled by cookie crumbs. 

“Mm,” Zev hums playfully at him, “ _old softie._ ” Hawke tosses a cookie at his head, which he catches artfully. 

Laris is still stifling laughter, "you two been together long?" He asks as his chuckles subside. 

Hawke laughs. "We're not married." 

Laris blushes, his cool-toned skin pinkening delightfully, and Zev can't help himself. 

"There's only one way I like to be tied down," he winks, getting a little rush from how Laris' cheeks change from light pink to a fully realized fuschia. 

"Jar." Says Hawke. 

Zevran stands to make his way over to the front desk, and gives Hawke a playful nudge with his elbow. He fishes a coin out of his pocket, which he tosses into a jar with his name on it beside the cash register. Laris watches the interaction play out, blush still fading on his cheeks.

"For being inappropriate with customers," Hawke explains. He nudges Zevran back as Zevran makes a point of shaking the jar around a little so that the coins inside it clink and clatter. "Scares 'em away." 

Next to the jar with Zevran's name on it is one with Hawke's. It's about twice as full. 

"When they're filled we buy pizza and beer." 

Laris laughs. "Oh don't worry, I don't scare easily. Be as inappropriate with me as you like." His tone is casual, but playfully hinting. 

\----

Laris gets comfortable with _inappropriate_ right away, laughing at Zev’s innuendos and returning them with his own, and they spend an hour of flirting on the couch, interspersed with discussion of Laris’ tattoo. Laris shows him just a touch of a serious side, revealing some vague details of his rough history as a soldier, and explaining the meaning he wants injected into his skin. 

Zevran finishes the sketch in a week, and things progress smoothly from there. Laris comes in to see it and they sit on the couch again to discuss some tweaks; colour options, size. Zevran flirts with all the enthusiasm of a rogue who's been given _permission_ and Garrett butts his head in from time to time to chastise him and attempt to outshine his innuendos with his own. Laris leaves with a series of appointments booked over the next couple of months, and when the bell on the door finally signals his exit, Zev sinks back into the plush couch with a sigh. 

"He's something," Hawke says admiringly, actually staring out the shop window at Laris' back as he walks away. 

"Mm." Zevran agrees faintly. Every thought he has in response to that would land more of his coins in the jar. 

"Maker be praised," Hawke drops a coin of his own into the jar with his name on it, and turns to him with a grin. "I love this job." 

\----

Laris arrives for his first session right on time, and Zevran leads him to his bench with a smile. The design is printed, discussed one last time, and approved before Laris stretches his arms over his head as he peels off his shirt. Zevran places the stencil delicately over perfect muscles and smooth skin, taking just a moment to admire the art as it is before instructing his client to lie down. 

“This _will_ hurt,” he warns. “More near the shoulder blades and down,” he gestures with his hand, lightly tapping at the small of Laris’ back, “here.” Goosebumps form on Laris’ skin at his touch. “Along the spine, too, is especially difficult for some.” 

Laris nods, and Zevran frowns a little. For the first time, he looks nervous. 

“We may still do something small, first.” He suggests, but Laris shakes his head. 

“No, I want this one,” he says with confidence that doesn’t match the goosebumps still prickling at his skin. “The design you did… it’s beautiful. Exactly what I want.” 

“We will start here then,” he runs his hand along the outline of a griffon wing that spans one shoulder. “Further from bone, where there’s more of you.” He explains, and he hears Laris take a deep breath. “And we may take as many breaks as you need. Good art takes time.” 

Laris nods again. “I can handle pain. I’ve seen plenty.” 

There are indeed faint traces of past pain over some parts of Laris’ body; a few on the arms, one long one over his chest. A Grey Warden veteran, with the battlescars to prove it.

“It won’t hurt nearly so much as being stabbed,” he assures with a wink, “but the pain will last longer.” 

Laris chuckles, his tense muscles relaxing into the bench. Zevran puts on his gloves and begins to prepare his inks and unwrap his supplies, and Laris watches him closely while he explains each step. 

The tattoo gun starts up with a buzz. It vibrates, heavy and powerful in Zev’s hand, and he presses the first line calmly into the Warden’s skin. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Laris’ hand clenches into a fist and releases again, and Zevran hears him let out another deep breath. 

“Not so bad,” Laris breathes, sounding surprised. Zevran smiles. 

“These long lines will not be fun, but the longer I can make them in one stroke, the smoother they look. Tell me if I should pause.” He goes on outlining the wing, and Laris sits through it in silence, sometimes breathing out a little harder when the gun passes close to a rib. 

“Good,” Zevran mutters softly, noticing as Laris’ regulates his breathing again, and unclenches his jaw. “Sure you haven’t done this before? You take it so well, amor.” He says it teasingly, with just a faint touch of flirtation; nothing more inappropriate than they’ve already established in the discussion sessions had on the couch. When he speaks his praises, however, every muscle in Laris’ body tenses up again.

“Hold on, hold on, stop,” Laris breathes out in a hasty whisper. 

So he does. 

“Have some water, if you’d like.” Zevran says, a cup already at his side to offer. Laris lifts himself carefully from the bench, each muscle moving in a slow ripple under his reddened skin. Zevran pads a bit of cloth to the parts of the fresh tattoo that are still lightly bleeding. Laris flinches, then the tight muscles relax. He takes the cup of water and empties it in one long sip. 

“Can I ask you something...strange?” 

Zevran nods. 

“Could you… not talk like that while you work?” 

Zevran chuckles, and at a desk just a few paces away, Hawke looks up from a sketch he’s working on with a smirk. “Stop scaring the customers, Zev.” 

Laris chuckles too, a little more nervously than Zevran. 

“Certainly,” he agrees with polished formality. “I shall be on my best behaviour.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t want you to feel --” 

“Oh don’t apologize to him,” Hawke cuts in again, this time standing up and walking over to join them. He inspects the linework placed on Laris’ back and nods approvingly. “He needs practice at being appropriate.” He pulls a nearby chair over and sits, still smirking at Zevran. “Your first time should be a good one. Here, want me to hold your hand?” He winks, but centres a warm smile on Laris, who chuckles again with renewed confidence. 

“It can do strange things, can’t it? The pain, the vulnerability,” Zevran says, watching Laris’ face as he talks. He leans back a little in his chair. “A little scary, a little exciting.” 

“A bit addictive,” Hawke adds. “I can magic away some of the pain though. Not all of it; heal you too much and it fucks with the ink, but some.” 

Laris shakes his head. “I can handle the pain.” He shrugs. “It’s the other part...” 

Zevran nods solemnly. “You have the power here, my friend.” 

Hawke looks between them both, then glances across the stencil of the design printed onto Laris’ back. Arcane symbolism and the flight of a Griffon, _away._

“It’s about escaping, right?” He notes with an understanding nod to match Zev’s. “Say no more.” He reaches out his hand as Laris lies back down on his stomach, and Laris takes it gently while Zevran resets his equipment and sets to work again. 

This time as he works, Zevran chats amiably, rather than flirtatiously. He and Hawke strike up a bantering conversation, and Laris chimes in with growing ease between deep breaths and tight squeezes to Hawke’s hand. 

“Tattoos symbolizing escape are, in fact, my personal favourite,” Zevran comments as he finishes the loose feathers of a griffon wing and starts lining the intricate runes. “You see these ones up around my neck?” 

“-- they run all the way down, by the way,” Hawke notes with another cocky wink, giving playful insight into the designs that trail below the low collar of Zev’s shirt and down the length of his torso. Laris breathes out a laugh, obviously trying to keep from moving too much. 

“They did not originally do so,” Zevran continues, smiling as he explains. “I was a Crow, you see.” 

“Nasty fellas,” Hawke interjects. 

“Indeed. Nothing quite so vulnerable as having _nasty fellas_ such as those mark your neck with their painful little designs,” he sighs. “So when I left --”

“When he fought his way out --” Hawke corrects. 

“I came up with a design of my own. Much like you’ve done,” Zevran finishes. 

“And I helped,” Hawke winks. 

“It’s quite a different thing, giving that vulnerability to someone you trust.” Zevran pauses to throw Hawke a glance, and Hawke looks up at him to catch it with love in his eyes. Like he always does. “Just a little more for today,” he notes before pressing the gun back into Laris’ skin. 

Laris squeezes Hawke’s hand again. “That’s incredible,” He says, softness and meaning in his voice. Zevran’s heart flutters a little, and he resists the urge to stir things away from sentimental with another innuendo.

“You should always be able to trust your artist,” Hawke says seriously, beside him. 

Zevran finishes the outline of Laris’ design with one last long stroke of thin line from shoulder blade to mid back, then places the tattoo gun carefully down on his tray of tools and inks. Laris releases his grip from Hawke’s hand, and Hawke pulls it away and wrings it out with an exaggerated gesture and another playful wink. Zevran pats some more cloth against Laris’ back, wiping up the blood, then throws it away and replaces his gloves before stretching out a thin clear bandage to wrap over the fresh ink. 

Laris drinks some more water, inspects the tattoo’s progress in a tall mirror on the studio wall, and moments later he is slipping his loose t-shirt gently over his head and following Zevran out into the front of the shop. 

Zevran situates himself behind the front desk, and begins organizing the collection of paperwork prepared for new clients. 

“Well, how do you feel?” He asks gently, smiling across the desk as Laris pulls a wallet from his trousers. 

“It’s a rush,” Laris admits with a cheeky smile. “It feels...good.” 

“Addictive!” Hawke adds from the sidelines, grinning. 

“Looking forward to the next one then?” Laris nods eagerly and Zevran finds that he is grinning too. “Now, these are for you.” He lays out the collection of detailed papers that form a comprehensive booklet titled _Tattoo Aftercare,_ and slides it toward Laris. 

“You don’t want to get it wet for a few days. After that, you may wash it gently with lukewarm water. Some scabbing and itchiness is entirely normal, but if you have any issues do not hesitate to come in. Your next appointment is in three weeks, but if you need more time to heal, we take it.” He instructs seriously. Laris nods along. Zevran pulls a jar of something out from a drawer in the desk and slides it across the table. “Apply this a couple times a day to help with the healing. It’s all natural, full of things that are good for the skin,” he smiles. “Smells wonderful too, as a bonus.” Laris takes the little jar and folds the papers to slide into his pocket. 

“If you have any questions, or just miss our lovely faces, simply drop on by.” Hawke adds, still leaning by the entryway of the studio behind them. 

Laris pays for the work, and Zevran insists he take the jar of aftercare lotion for free while Hawke tuts at him playfully. Then with a tinkle of the bell at the door, a wink, and a wave, Laris is gone, and Zev sighs down at the surface of the desk. Then he drops a coin into the jar with his name.

\----

Laris’ second appointment can’t approach fast enough. Zevran has no work that compares to it in the weeks between. Simple flash designs and quotable phrases do little to please his artist’s hand as long as the sketch of Laris’ lovely design hangs waiting on the wall above his bench. After the first session, Zevran took the liberty of booking Laris into his last timeslot for the day, so that they could take all the time he needed. 

Now he watches the clock impatiently as the day drags on. From the moment he opens the shop in the morning until the last walk-in client leaves his bench in the afternoon, Zevran has only one thing on his mind. By the time the little bell over the door signifies Laris’ entry, he’s practically pacing the shop. 

Laris smiles at him brightly as he enters, and those dazzling eyes glint with an excitement that Zevran feels in his own chest.

“Very different atmosphere you’ve got in here today,” Laris comments as he slips off his loose shirt again and situates himself comfortably on Zevran’s bench. Overhead, the studio speakers are playing music with guitar riffs just as complicated as the sort Hawke likes, but acoustic and soft. 

Zevran grins, happy to have someone notice. “We take turns,” he explains. As if on cue, Hawke comes up to pester him. 

“He thinks this stuff is romantic,” Garrett teases.

“Si,” Zevran winks, “and I think your stuff is too reckless to be called art.” 

Hawke responds by making one of the tattoos of a mermaid on his arm dance, flexing his arm playfully in Zevran’s face. 

“Not art? I recall you _loving_ that show I took you to last week.” 

“I did like it,” Zev smirks. “All those bodies pressed together, all sweating and pushing one another in time to that loud, obnoxiously powerful stuff you call music? Great fun.” 

“Romantic,” Hawke corrects, with a wink at Laris. 

The conversation on music and art and romance continues as Laris settles in for the shading on his tattoo. Zevran warns him that this step will hurt more, that he will have to go over the same areas of skin for longer, and reminds him to speak up when he is in need of anything. 

He sits for hours without complaint. Zevran checks as much of the flirtation as he can, but as the conversation runs on Laris becomes more and more bold. Eventually he has need of a break; a drink of water and a stretch. When Zevran catches sight of his flushed face his own face heats up to match. Hawke shoots him a knowing, amused glance. 

The appointment goes late. Hawke leaves them in the last stretches to count the till and close up shop, and when he returns Zevran is just finishing with the bandage over Laris’ back. 

“Well, I think that’s my jar full,” Hawke comments as he returns from the front of the shop, shaking the jar of coins in his hands for emphasis. “Pizza or beer?” 

“Beer,” Zevran says, nodding with friendly invitation to Laris. “Join us if you’d like. A perk of staying after hours.” 

Laris smiles. “I can pitch in,” he says, but Zevran shakes his head. 

“You pay for the work,” he shrugs, “not the company.”

“Back in a bit!” Hawke calls out, his coat already on as he stomps his way out the door. 

Zevran cleans up his workspace, and Laris takes a walk around the shop, stretching his legs. 

“How did you two meet?” 

“On a job,” Zevran replies, shrugging again, “but we soon figured out that neither of us much cared for the line of work we were in.” 

“I can’t imagine you doing anything else,” Laris comments. Zev looks up to see him staring up at the wall above his bench, taking in the sprawling array of past designs and sketches posted up there. 

“Oh, the tales I could tell you, then...” Zevran smirks, and Laris glances over, shocking him again with bright, eager eyes. 

“Do tell.” 

They move to the couch, and Laris settles in carefully, keeping his back straight. Zevran passes him a pillow to ease his posture.

He’s made friends through his work before; one can meet all sorts of interesting characters, running a tattoo shop in the scruffier part of town. But no one since Hawke himself has made his chest tighten quite like Laris does, and his mind wanders to all sorts of inappropriate places as he observes the curl of Laris’ lips, the arch of his brow. 

“Alright, tell me your most scandalous tale,” Laris goads him, folding his hands over his head as he settles in. 

Zevran smiles, stretching out and untying his hair from where he keeps it back in a tight braid while he works. His hair falls in soft, crimped locks over his eyes, and he smoothes it back slowly. Satisfaction joins the jitters in his chest as Laris watches him hungrily. 

He tells him a tale, sordid and sensational, and Laris laughs along and raises his eyebrows in all the right places. He’s become so invested in the game of flirtation and charm that he almost doesn’t hear the bell on the door when Hawke returns with the case of beer. 

Hawke muscles his way between them on the couch with an obliviousness that Zevran doesn’t believe for a second, and cracks open three beers. 

“To new friends!” He toasts enthusiastically, clinking his bottle with Zevran’s and Laris’, and takes a huge swig. Then Hawke jumps into his own version of charming, beguiling Laris with his ludicrous stories and inappropriate jokes. 

Zevran leans back, admiring them both. Hawke is wedged in next to him, too broad a man to really be able to fit onto the middle couch cushion, he leans his body closer to Zev’s, giving Laris and his careful, newly-tattooed posture space. An arm drapes casually over his shoulder, old ink spreading up from numerals on his fingers to pin-up style mermaids and other silly figures up to his elbow. A dragon and roses curl around his bicep, Zevran’s art blending in with the stylized sailor fare that Hawke likes; a disjointed sleeve of intricate prettiness and juvenile art that somehow fits him. Funny, loud Hawke, with glints of elegance peeking through where they’re least expected. 

The playlist of Zevran’s music ends, and Hawke gets up to put something new on before Zevran gets the chance, still lost in his quiet admiration as he nurses his beer. The speakers begin to blare out fast, heavy riffs, and a man’s voice sings in a dramatically high pitch over the whine of the guitars. 

“There’s a show later, couple doors down. Saw the poster while I was out,” Hawke remarks suggestively, but Zev shakes his head. 

“I don’t think our new friend should be jumping around any dingy concert halls, do you?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Hawke opens a second beer. “Fair enough. Was a time when I’d slap on some ink and then dance the night away,” he admits with a shrug, “but as a professional I suppose I can’t recommend it.” 

Laris tells a story of his own, punctuating it with a few lewd jokes as he continues drinking slowly from his beer. Then as Hawke’s arm squeezes comfortably around Zevran’s shoulder, he turns to them both with a curious, apologetic expression, and asks plainly: “So, _are_ you two together or…” 

He’s blushing a little as he asks, which makes Zevran chuckle and Hawke bellow out a full-bodied laugh. 

“If you mean do we fuck, then sure,” Hawke answers, taking another glad sip of his drink while Zevran shakes his head, still chuckling. Hawke’s squeeze at his shoulder tightens for a moment, pulling him into a tight, sidelong hug. “And I love him,” he adds, grinning. Ten years, and Hawke’s ability to just throw words like those about still sends a quiet tremor through him every time it happens. 

“‘Til death do us part.” He agrees smoothly, and Hawke’s grin widens. Laris’ smile falls a little. 

“But we’re _free,_ ” Hawke adds. “Big part of the point, that.” 

“Though as I’ve said, I _do_ so love to be tied down,” Zevran winks, reusing what might be his favourite little joke, but with much more pointed emphasis now. Hawke mimes fanning himself and gives Zevran a kiss on the cheek before admonishing his inappropriateness with a point toward his jar. 

“After hours,” Zev pleads, holding his hands up in a joking surrender. 

The frown is gone from Laris’ face, replaced by a disbelieving smile and bright eyes brimming with intrigue. 

Behind his playful demeanour, Zevran’s heart beats fast in his chest. Certainly, he fills a jar with coins every month or two in a joking tradition of acknowledging his roguish sense of humour, but usually the jar fills up due to _just_ that. They’re an old joke, something originally instated over teasing at Hawke’s frequent swearing and Zevran’ casual flirtation, but flirtation with Laris has long surpassed _casual_ . He’s begun working on the right way to voice _forthright_. 

Hawke stands after finishing his second beer, and announces that he plans to go take in the show. “Going to see if I can’t push my sweaty body against some others,” he winks, and with a wave struts out the door, leaving Zevran with Laris on the couch, probably on purpose. 

“It is rather romantic,” Zevran comments. 

“What is?” 

“The music.” He smiles as the singer on the overhead speakers screams out a long, dramatic wail and the guitars pick up speed. Then he whips his hair over his head and gives the music a proper headbang, throwing his head back and laughing while Laris chuckles at his side. 

“I can put on something else,” Zevran offers. Laris takes the opportunity to sidle himself up closer to his side. 

“No, I like it,” he admits. “Fast and hard.” He taps his foot to the beat appreciatively, and gives Zev a look that absolutely melts him. “Romantic, like you said.” 

“Is that what you like?”

“Mm, I like the power in it,” Laris whispers, and Zevran shudders, a familiar thrill of anticipation running over his skin. 

“Is that why you don’t like my flirting while you’re under my gun?” Zevran asks slowly, breaking the moment a little to touch on something serious; the nervousness he noticed at that first appointment crosses Laris’ face again, and he waits patiently while the elf beside him lets out a long breath. 

Laris nods. “There are just a few things I…” 

Zevran places a delicate hand on his knee, and strokes his thumb softly over it while he locks his eyes with Laris’. Those shiny, sharp blues pierce into him like glass. 

“You don’t have to explain.” His face is inching towards him, breath from his lips lightly skimming the tip of his nose. Laris’ pretty blue eyes blink, and then close. Zevran’s hand trails upward, grips over Laris’ thigh. Laris reaches for him, an arm around his back and a sudden squeeze at his waist. 

“I prefer not to give up control,” Laris mutters, lips so close Zevran can almost feel the vibrations of them on his skin. And then he _can_ feel them: soft, pressing into his with gentle curiosity, parting his lips and flicking a tongue ever so lightly across his teeth. He leans in for another, and Laris’ grip at his waist clings tight for a moment, his mouth pressing into his with a forceful eagerness and pulling on his bottom lip with perfect power. When they pull apart, Laris is blushing lightly, but his eyes are bright and excited. 

Zevran feels his heart stuttering fast in his chest, warmth spreading through him from his cheeks and down through his toes. He shivers as Laris loosens his grip at his waist, and smiles as he reaches up to stroke Laris’ cheek. 

“So then, you wish to make me vulnerable?” He suggests in a low whisper. Laris nods, and Zevran swallows. 

\---- 

Laris only has one appointment left. The tattoo is all but finished; lined and shaded, it needs only to be checked over for any touch-ups and dotted with a few pops of colour. Zevran doesn’t know what he is going to do when he no longer has these sessions to look forward to. 

Hawke has several suggestions. He isn’t jealous, because he doesn’t _do_ jealous, but he is disappointed that equal attention hasn’t been shown to him, and he has a mind to just ask for what he wants. But Hawke is thinking about sex, _casual sex,_ with an attractive client and his longtime partner. Zevran is thinking about sex too, of course, but he is also thinking about those conversations; the connection he has to Laris and his pain that he can’t deny. 

He’s fairly certain that Hawke feels the tug of that too, but Hawke has never been very good at delicate sentimentality. Hawke loves with boldness and joy, and takes even longer than Zevran does to truly unlock. 

So they talk about it, about sex and how to go about organizing it, but also about what _else_ there could be. Ask him out to coffee, invite him over for dinner, take him to a heavy metal show… 

Zevran hasn’t been this nervous in ten years. 

Laris is early, and Zevran is still finishing inking the word _Halcyon_ on a young woman’s ankle when Hawke brings him into the studio from the front lobby to check on his tattoo. Zevran bandages the woman’s ankle and begins cleaning up his supplies, while across the room Laris takes off his shirt and Hawke tosses him a greedy look. Zevran paces over to inspect the work, and Hawke takes over for him at the register, though not without first targeting him with a playful nudge of his elbow. 

Laris’ tattoo is well healed, the lines strong and smooth, with little need for touch-ups. Zevran strokes a slow hand over the curve of his griffon wing, and Laris’ skin prickles. Then Laris turns and digs one quick, strong kiss into Zevran’s lips. Zevran tuts at him as he pulls away. 

“I’m working,” he scolds. 

With a bright flash of his eyes, Laris replies, “I don’t care.” Zevran feels his trousers tighten as his blood rushes from his cheeks to somewhere lower. 

“We’ll be quick today,” Zevran says, regaining his composure as he returns to his bench, while Laris follows. 

“Shame,” he answers, waiting while Zevran sprays the workspace down with disinfectant and then takes a seat. “I was starting to like it.”

“The pain, or the vulnerability?” 

“Both.” Laris replies as he lies down, his voice wanting. “It’s all kind of addictive.” 

“You’ll have to book something else then,” Zevran suggests, continuing the banter as he unwraps a new needle for the tattoo gun and selects his inks. 

“Yes, I think you’ve got me hooked.” 

“Good. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have your appointments to look forward to.” 

Laris looks up at him, glancing back from where he is lying face-down and perpendicular from Zevran’s seat. His eyes flash again, soft and hopeful this time. “I’d like to see more of you, actually. Not just for tattoos,” he says. Zevran blinks as he tries to come up with a bantery reply. 

“Good,” he says instead. “I think that could be arranged.” 

He works quickly, going over just a couple black lines and adding some splashes of blue to bring the design to life. When he is finished, Laris picks himself up and strides over to the mirror on the wall. He admires the work for a long time, rolling his shoulders and turning from side to side to observe the fresh ink shining out from his still reddened skin. Zevran watches from his bench, his heart in his throat. 

“It’s absolutely perfect,” Laris says finally, and Zevran lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. 

It is Hawke who sets things into motion, frankly, as only Hawke can. Laris pays for his tattoo and Hawke invites him to stick around for a bit while they close up shop. Then he leans his elbows casually against the front desk and catches Laris in his gaze as he says: “We have a proposition for you, actually.” 

\----

There is a frank discussion of boundaries had on the couch. Laris sits next to Zevran comfortably, only a little stiff from the aches left by his tattoo, and Hawke sits himself down on the other end. Hawke can talk about sex like he’s ordering lunch, and so can Zevran, but this exchange does something to his nerves nonetheless. His hand keeps brushing against Laris’ thigh and sending shivers down his spine. 

The longer they talk, finalizing details for the encounter like they are planning a new tattoo, the more eager Zev becomes. Ropes? Good, says Hawke. Whips and chains, if he can have them, Zevran adds. Pain? A little is alright, but Laris doesn’t really like to cause it. Penetration? Yes please, laugh Zevran and Hawke together. Safewords? And a hand signal too, just in case. Magic? Just a little, nothing too intense. 

Hawke turns off the neon sign at the window and locks the shop door. Zevran leads Laris through the employee’s door and down a long narrow hall that leads to an equally narrow flight of stairs. He unlocks the door at the top of the stairs, and the apartment above the shop opens up bright and clean in front of him. 

The studio apartment is awash in fading natural light from the setting sun outside, and Zevran pulls warm-toned curtains carefully across the windows while Laris looks around. Hawke follows them up shortly, his footsteps bounding loudly up the stairs. He lights candles with a flick of magic from his fingers, and jokingly offers Laris the “grand tour.” 

Their apartment consists of one large room, filled mostly with a giant soft bed draped in pillows and plush red blankets, and one small bathroom. To one end of the apartment is a small kitchenette, with clean dishes sitting out in the dish rack and absurd magnetic poetry plastered over the fridge. All the other furniture is either art, art supplies, or jumbled up exercise equipment. There’s an easel by the window propping up a pile of finished paintings, and a rolled up yoga mat leaning against that. Laris’ eyes fall onto the bed, and then scan their way over to Zevran. 

“Take off your clothes,” he commands, suddenly sounding like the soldier he is, and Zevran obeys. Laris’ eyes stay on him as he slowly reveals his body, and Hawke is staring hungrily too. “I want to watch you both,” Laris instructs, and Zevran catches Hawke’s grin before he hides it away under a smouldering gaze. 

Hawke grabs him, ripping away his own shirt quickly before helping to work Zevran out of his. They move to the bed, Hawke pressing his body over his with heavy kisses, his strong arms pinning Zev’s to the bed. 

Laris strides over as he watches, taking his own clothing off piece by piece and coming to guide Hawke’s movements with his hands. Zevran unbuckles Hawke’s belt from underneath him, pulling his trousers down while he watches Laris slide his hands over Garrett’s ass. Zevran reaches down, taking Hawke’s cock into his hand without taking his eyes off Laris, who leans over them both, kissing Hawke’s shoulders and roaming his body with his hands. 

Hawke moans softly, grinding into Zevran’s hand. Laris quickly passes him a bottle of oil from their bedside table, and Zevran coats both his hand and Hawke’s cock in it, picking up his pace. Hawke kisses him hard as he strokes him, again and again, his hands firm as they squeeze against Zev’s shoulders. 

And then Laris has spun him over, flipped the broad-shouldered giant onto his back with surprising strength. Zevran watches as Laris finishes tugging off his own trousers and straddles himself over his lover, kissing Garrett hard on the mouth and pulling away with a devilish smile. Hawke’s hands go to Laris’ cock, and Zevran moves to his side, watching and kissing softly at the thighs of both men as he lazily takes his own erection into his hand. 

“I like to put up a little fight,” Hawke mutters between Laris’ hard kisses, and Laris grins. 

“Try it,” he says, and Hawke does. Zevran squeezes himself tighter, watching Garrett’s fine muscles bulge and tense against the hold of Laris’ hands against his arms. Laris strokes a long finger down Garrett’’s chest, leaving a trail of blue sparkling magic that Zevran recognizes as a fast-fading frost spell, and Garrett shivers, then moans again. 

Zevran teases a row of kisses up the length of Laris’ thigh beside him, then down and over Hawke’s chest, his tongue flicking at Garrett’s pierced nipple. Then Laris moves up, positioning his hard cock over Hawke’s panting face. 

“Take it,” he instructs, short and simple, the power in his voice swimming through Zevran’s head. He watches Hawke take the length of it into his mouth, and his own cock throbs, filling with blood and desire. He moves again, finding a position behind Laris’ back where he can duck his head down between Hawke’s thick thighs. 

Hawke’s cock is hard, resting there at the base of Laris’ ass, pulsing in time with his every muffled moan around Laris’ erection. Zevran licks up the backside of it, and pulls teasingly at the skin below with his lips. Hawke moans again, louder. 

Zevran hears Laris hush him, and then the moans come muffled, pleading. Zevran closes his eyes and sinks in, filling his mouth with Garrett’s hard erection and tugging hungrily out again. He can make Garrett come like this in seconds if he wants to. He unlocked _those_ secrets years ago. But he doesn’t, instead drawing out his desire in long slow strokes, the music of Hawke’s moans filling his ears. He leads Hawke to his edge, then pulls away, giving attention to himself for a moment while Laris adjusts his position. 

Laris moves Zevran’s hand away and grabs his erection himself. He’s risen off of Hawke, allowing Hawke to stand up and untie a length of rope from its ready place at their bedpost. Hawke goes back to touching himself as soon as Laris has taken the rope, returning to the bed on his knees. He helps Laris take Zevran’s arms, and Zevran makes a teasing show of a struggle against them, kissing at both of their lips with biting enthusiasm and bucking his hips up. 

Laris ties him to the bed and watches silently for a moment as Hawke returns the action Zevran had so lovingly played over him with his mouth. Hawke’s mouth envelops Zevran’s cock, hot and firm, and a deep moan leaves Zev’s throat. Beside him, Laris is touching himself, and Zevran turns his head to offer up his mouth. 

Laris thrusts his cock into him, and he takes it in full. His tongue spins excitedly around the length, and his lips pull gently at the tip until Laris takes his head in his hand and pushes him into it _again._ Zevran’s cock is still in Hawke’s mouth, and it pulses and throbs with every push of Laris’ hand against his head. 

Then Hawke pulls away and joins Laris at his mouth, each of them kneeling to either side of him and jutting their hips forward, long, hard erections prodding indelicately at his mouth. He takes one, then the other, struggling to fit as much as he can of both. Laris grips the back of his head, pulling him forward and into each cock in fast, rhythmic pulses. He guides Zevran to leave his erection, pressing his head fully toward Garrett’s cock, as Garrett leans back and allows Laris to tie his own wrists back behind his back. 

Now, Zevran is too excited to play nice. He works on Hawke with every trick he knows, locks eyes with him and pulls slow and gentle up and down the length of him, then increases in pressure and speed. Hawke tilts his head back and moans, and Zevran’s heart nearly beats out of his chest as he watches Laris take those helpless moans into kisses. He keeps going, sucking and licking and pulling at Hawke’s skin with his lips, until Hawke is thrusting hard into his mouth, losing himself. 

Warm seed erupts into his mouth and he swallows it with a satisfied smile. Laris moans, watching and stroking himself from behind Garrett, his hand fingering at Hawke’s ass. Hawke kisses his lips, and wipes away what’s left on his chin, muttering curse words under his breath. 

Laris unties Hawke’s wrists, and slowly turns Zevran over, leaving him tied down. 

“Can I fuck you now?”

“Please.” 

“Mm, say that again.” 

“Please,” Zevran breathes, another moan escaping him as he feels Garrett’s hands join the caresses of Laris’ across his back and ass. 

He feels cool oil slide against his ass, and Garrett’s fingers tingling with magic trace a line around his waist, ending with a soft grip over his cock. Laris’ fingers tease at him with another magic, one that is warm, and then enter his ass slowly, one at a time, slick with the oil. Hawke stretches out beside him, lying next to him where he can still reach Zevran’s cock but also kiss his lips. Then Laris’ hands, still slightly tingling with their magic, are gripping hard over his shoulders as he straddles over him. 

He lets out a loud moan as Laris enters him, and Hawke squeezes around his erection, tight. Laris begins to fuck him, slow at first, but picking up speed with every thrust. His cock digs into him hard and deep, pressing into him and grinding in and out slick with the oil, but also rough with just a bit of friction. Hawke strokes his cock hard, and kisses the moans from Zevran’s lips with a greedy smile, still swearing under his breath. 

Laris takes his time, moving from fast back to slow, and then fast again. Deep. Hard. His hands dig into Zevran’s shoulders and drag long lines of magic and sharp fingernails down his back. He comes in Hawke’s hand, panting and moaning and pleading again while Laris instructs him to beg. 

“Please,” Zev whispers, voice hoarse and desperate as Hawke’s hand slides over the cum still dripping from his cock. “Please.” 

Laris finally comes, and moans into Zevran’s neck with the release, pulling a fistfull of his long hair back. Zevran’s entire body shudders, and as Laris pulls out of him and rolls himself gently away, he collapses limply into the soft bed. 

“Fuck,” Hawke says appreciatively again, and he begins to untie Zevran’s bonds. 

“I didn’t hurt you?” Laris' voice, commanding and harsh only a moment ago, is soft now, careful. 

“Far from it,” Zevran props himself up on his elbow and takes a gentle kiss from Hawke’s lips, then offers one to Laris’ nearby knee. 

“I’m gonna clean up,” says Hawke, and he leaves the bed to plod over to the small bathroom. Before closing the door, he wets a washcloth in the sink and tosses it to the bed. The shower runs for a minute, and when he comes out again, wet and naked and smiling, he brings more towels and cloths. 

Zevran lifts himself into a seat on the bed, and Laris settles in behind him, carefully observing the marks on his back. 

“Want some healing?” Hawke asks, settling onto the bed too. Zevran shakes his head.

“Do I ever?” 

Hawke kisses his cheek. “Sometimes.” 

“You okay?” Zevran points the question back at Hawke, taking up one of his wrists to check that the bonds were tied properly, that they haven’t left marks. 

“Fucking incredible,” Hawke promises, and he extends a long, thick arm to wrap Laris into him as well. “Thanks for that.” 

Laris lets out a long sigh. “This was…” 

Hawke kisses him on the cheek too, and helps him to wipe himself up with one of the washcloths. 

“This was amazing. Thank you,” Laris finishes, and both Hawke and Zevran are grinning beside him. 

“Coffee?” Suggests Hawke. Laris nods. 

“Tea,” says Zev, and Hawke rises from the bed again to find three mugs in their small cupboards. 

Laris helps Zevran to clean himself up, and then the two of them settle into a comfortable lean again on the bed. There’s more talk, confirmation that everyone’s satisfied and comfortable, and after the tea is steeped and the coffee is brewed, the three of them dress and share another few laughs. 

Before Laris leaves, they’ve booked several more appointments to occur over the next few months: for tattoos, but for _other_ things too.


End file.
